“Andrew, they never arrived.”
I stood so quickly that my chair struck the wall.
“Check with the neighbors. Shaun may have gotten sick.”
“She would’ve called.”
“Check anyway.”
“She would’ve called.”
***
By midnight, the police had Clara’s route and car description.
They found it below a river bridge the next day. Its parking brake had failed after Clara left it on the shoulder. Divers found no bodies, and years later, a court declared all three dead.
***
Gwen’s letter gave us the first place Clara might have stopped.
“We’re going there,” I told Jackson.
“Not until you take your medication,” Jackson said, taking my coat.
Divers found no bodies.
“I’ve already lost 40 years.”
“Then don’t collapse before you get an answer. I’ll drive.”
***
The motel was now an apartment building. An elderly woman in the lobby studied Clara’s photograph.
“I remember her. Her son had a fever, and she kept trying to call her husband.”
I showed her Gwen’s picture.
“I’ve already lost 40 years.”
“Did this woman come?”
“Yes. They argued. Your wife wanted to go home and hear the truth from her husband.”
“I’m the husband. What did Gwen say?”
“She said you’d already left town with another woman.”
My chest seized.
“That was a lie.”
Jackson pulled out a chair.
“Did this woman come?”
